


Burn Your Name Into My Soul (Elementals Variation 01)

by Lucifer_Rosemaunt



Series: Elementals series [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 17:49:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4272441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifer_Rosemaunt/pseuds/Lucifer_Rosemaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short ficlet variations on a theme: elementals, fire. Raoul deals with the fallout of learning just how dangerous a language Latin is to know how to speak. And Erik… well, he benefits from it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Your Name Into My Soul (Elementals Variation 01)

o.o.o.o

Raoul had lost count of the number of times he had tossed and turned in bed, moving from his side to his back to his stomach before starting the cycle once more. Getting out of bed had crossed his mind already, but that would only mean he would spend the next few minutes pacing the length of his room, revealing to everyone else in the household that he was, in fact, awake when he was trying to convey the exact opposite. Admittedly, the others should be asleep at this late hour as well, but he was not willing to take that risk.

The lone candle that still burned provided enough illumination for him to watch shadows dance across the walls as he settled against his pillows once more. It had been a long day, tiring in a way that had wrung him out so emotionally that it left him physically drained.

It took considerable effort to avoid letting his mind drift to the opera house and its residents or rather, one resident in particular. Those thoughts would make him not only more restless but depressed as well. He so desperately wanted the sweet oblivion of sleep but simply could not allow himself that privilege. Not yet. His day was not over. There was one more individual he had to see, one more appointment to uphold before there could be rest.  

Each hour that passed, however, was one that passed in trepidation. In the days between these visits, Raoul decidedly avoided analyzing his emotions, enough so that he could not discern whether it was anticipation or dread that followed him into the evening. He had his honour though and held onto that as well as the promise he had made instead. He also had the haunting shrieks of a creature dying that echoed in his mind and the uneasy guilt he felt for being integral in its demise, despite the necessity of it all.

The muscles in his lower back tensed suddenly and it took several moments to recognize the slight disturbance of air in the room and the scent he had yet to properly name that indicated he was no longer alone. He glanced up and fixed his gaze on the visitor who seemed so at ease in his bedroom.

“You…” he breathed out in some mix of despair and resignation. His heart sped up enough to thud almost painfully against his chest. He had the unshakeable impression that he was being led by the hand down the path of self-destruction and yet was still going willingly. Shifting, he pushed himself up onto his elbows in order to press his back against the headboard. It was only sheer force of will that kept him from bringing his knees up to his chest, making himself as small as possible. He knew he could not present such an image.

The creature smirked – and he _was_ a creature, a demon, no matter how much like a man he appeared. He wore a suit and vest, both dark as night and pressed to perfection. Erik, himself, had no preference as to what form he held. He maintained this one as a pointed reminder to the young man of what he had done, scarring his face with that vial of holy water.

“Yes, me.” Erik took in the obviously nervous human huddled on the bed. His short blond hair was mussed, a couple of strands sticking up at odd directions which, if he was willing to admit to himself, was oddly endearing. The sheet, twisted in the young man’s hands, was pulled tightly against his stomach, a poor protection of his virtue – well, at least, whatever virtue Erik had graciously left for him. “You stayed up for me.” 

“I…?” Raoul turned his head, unwilling to meet the demon’s eyes, a green that looked bright yet not supernatural. They simply looked expectant at the moment. Some days, he could fool himself into believing what had passed between his childhood sweetheart and the wraith that had attached itself to her had never happened. Most days he was not that good of a liar. “We have a deal,” he tried to say as firmly as he could. “I couldn’t let you…” he faltered trying to find the words to explain. “I couldn’t.”

Erik had initially reveled in Raoul’s rather misplaced sense of honor. A constant, though reluctant, source of energy was a gift that Erik had never known he would experience. He had spent his life scraping by with what passions he could glean off of humans. Being so doubly cursed was uncommon among even his own kind. His inability to control humans’ dreams or desires, inability to manipulate as he was created to do was a grave handicap, one that would easily kill a weaker of his kind. He had been forced to passively find those with the most passion and linger by them, too much like the leach that loatheful wraith had been.

It had been a meager existence until this young man entered his life. Now that he knew what it was truly like to be able to manipulate and interact with humans, he doubted he would ever be able to stop. Being active in partaking upon the feast that the young man offered him was an addicting experience. Even the fear that tainted Raoul’s energy was near negligible.

At least, it had been. Despite Erik’s attempts to the contrary, Raoul’s continued reluctance concerning their meetings grated on his nerves. Erik was travelling a path he knew would only be harmful. Wanting was dangerous, and _how_ Erik wanted. What was more dangerous was being able to take, being able to convince Raoul to give him what he wanted, to push and push until eventually there would be nothing left to give. While not as common a practice any longer, Raoul’s death was also counterproductive to Erik’s own agenda, and he forcefully ignored the emotions that coloured the thought of losing his viscount.

“The priest has been no help as of yet,” Erik mentioned, partly to distract himself from his own thoughts and partly to reveal the fact that he was well aware of Raoul’s progress. He considered approaching the bed but decided the blond was too skittish still. He momentarily appreciated the disheartened expression on the viscount’s face before commenting, “I do not foresee that he will be of any help at all at this rate.” How expressive his viscount was, all emotion and whole-heartedness. Erik garnered no energy from it but the satisfaction of being the cause of any emotion on Raoul’s face was often a prize in itself.

There was little that Erik could actually interfere in Raoul’s interactions with the priest, the holy man too well-protected for him to truly disturb without being found out, but Erik actively appreciated the lack of aide that had come of their continued exchanges. He had and would continue to destroy any resource that might take Raoul from him. He was nigh certain that he had taken enough energy from the young man to be able to kill the priest despite his charms and blessings without undue stress to himself should it came to that.

Raoul kept his silence to Erik’s observations. There was nothing he could say. As much as he worked and researched, there was nothing that described how to release them both from their unexpected bond. He had found a few passages here and there of hunters and exorcists forcing a bond as a last resort in order to destroy a demon otherwise too powerful and dangerous. Those passages all ended in mutual destruction however and Raoul was unwilling to believe their lives would end as such.

“You already deformed me with the holy water,” Erik gestured to his face. He pressed only because of the certainty he had of Raoul’s character. “You _could_ still very well let me die now.” He teased, “That was what you were hoping to do after all, wasn’t it? Starve me to death.”

“No!” Raoul replied before realizing his response should not be so vehement. He tried for nonchalance as he added, “Do not tempt me.” It fell flatly, he knew, especially when the demon laughed, obviously unconcerned with his threat. He could not help but be defensive. “I did not know you were there!”

Erik tried not to smirk and felt the skin on the right side of his face stretch and crinkle abnormally when he failed. He was still getting used to this new deformity and felt hyperaware of it under Raoul’s earnest gaze. He could count on one hand the number of humans who had ever seen him in any form. Raoul was truly the first to ever lay eyes on him, to fully interact with him. The image he was able to project was his only means of survival, one meant to entice and seduce, and the young man had ruined that. “What happened to trying to exorcise me?”

“I didn’t see you,” Raoul said lamely. They had argued this a hundred times over, he was certain. He tried not to think about how it had all been for Christine. His dearest childhood friend had been plagued by a malingering wraith that put her ill at ease and kept her so very nervous and near hysterical. Hearing her concerns, Raoul had immediately found a priest with skills in exorcism, demanding to be present in order to comfort her. Perhaps that had been where it had all gone awry, Raoul’s presence.

As expected, the demon continued, “Just because you can read Latin does not mean you are an exorcist.”

At the chastisement, Raoul looked pained. With his eyes closed, it was like he was there again. He could see the priest being flung backwards at the backlash of an incomplete adjuration. He could feel the shuddering impact of the other mans’ body slamming against the wall, the incense filling his lungs and the sight of the book that lay open at his feet. Picking it up, the words had been obscured by smoke and Raoul fumbled with the vial of holy water in his pocket. He breathed in deeply and distantly he realized that incense was not the only scent filling his lungs, the scent of this demon had been present then as well, wholly distinct and familiar by now. He did not know exactly where the priest had finished, had been too focused on Christine writhing on the bed, distraught and scared. So he read. He read as much as he could, tossing water in her direction as he had seen the priest doing.

Erik did not want to admit why he felt the need to remark, “Although I suppose you _did_ manage to remove that wraith from her.”

She had screamed as the violent shadow clawed its way free from her chest, summoned by Raoul’s words and livid at the inducement. The wraith shrieked and the book nearly fell from Raoul’s hand. It lunged at him but once it detached itself from her completely, a fire took hold of it, burning it from within with a heat that Raoul felt from the proximity of the claw by his face. The resulting smoke and sulfur that filled the room became suffocating, and denied his other senses, Raoul felt more than heard the rhythmic shrieking of pain. Even after the smoke cleared and he could see Christine breathing though unconscious on the bed, Raoul had continued reading. He had still felt the wraith lingering in every single heartbeat that followed. He kept reading because out of the corner of his eye he had seen another creature, the outline of a wing just at the edge of his vision and he had jerked.

“You even managed to see me,” Erik continued. He did not know how the young man had managed, but the veil that hid him had been lifted for Raoul alone that night. “Despite the subsequent binding of our existences and…” he gestured again to his face, “the knee-jerk reactions with holy water and innocent bystanders, it was impressive.”

Raoul had flung the holy water at Erik. The vial had been nearly empty and it had technically slipped from numb fingers, not been intentionally thrown. In hindsight, the resulting shattering of the vial against Erik had made Raoul feel more guilty than proud, and it may very well have been an overreaction. The priest had had to restrain him, a hand firmly clapped over his mouth to stifle any further words, as he grappled the book away from him. The other man had not understood his reactions, not being able to see Erik, and Raoul only calmed once he’d calmed enough to have a better look. More than the shadow the wraith had been, he had been able to see Erik as clear as day, a man clutching his face in agony. The demon, foreign and strange albeit without the wings that Raoul had been certain he had seen, had been incapacitated. More importantly, he had been vulnerable in a way that had struck him.

“Who are you calling innocent?” Raoul once more defended himself. “What else would you have been doing there if not for something… something nefarious?”

“I’d already told you,” Erik said, “I was just watching _your_ activities, nothing more.” He offhandedly lied, “There are others with more fulfilling desires than those of your fiancée.” He very well did not want to explain how Christine was filled with such innocent passion, a passion for life and singing that he had been drawn to her despite the others’ more powerful emotions. She had been the closest Erik had gotten to manipulating a human’s dreams. Her Angel of Music had already been formed in her mind, waiting for Erik to fight to allow it to feature in more of them. 

Raoul made a face and managed to look not only unconvinced but somehow more miserable. These past few weeks had been revealing enough of what Erik did to survive, and however unconvinced he was of the demon speaking the complete truth, that statement did ring at least partially true.

“Do you suspect I touched her?” _As I have touched you_ remained unsaid, but Erik knew it was understood and Raoul hardly took a moment before he shook his head.

Christine would have told him. Christine had shared everything of herself to him, revealing the wraith when she had been certain she would not be taken seriously. She talked of the Angel of Music and her dreams. She had still blushed so prettily when he had held her hand, giggled when he used to place a kiss upon it. She would have told him or at least acted differently.

“We could return to the dreams once more if you are unwilling,” Erik suggested as he glanced meaningfully at how Raoul was still clutching the blankets to himself.

“No! Don’t…” The young man’s eyes widened as though he was remembering the details of those dreams and Erik felt the inklings of something more than just fear from the young man. It encouraged him to take a step forward. Raoul shook his head with enough force that his bangs fell in front of his eyes. “No,” he said softer. It was obvious it took effort to release the blanket from his grip. “Not the dreams please.”

The ‘please’ at the end of his statement sounded sweet to his ears, and Erik stalked towards him, tired of their conversation, tired of the duty that laid heavily on Raoul’s shoulders to free them from each other. Erik would erase that reluctance, if only for a bit. “Was it really worse than our last encounter?”

Oh, and Erik knew the dreams had been so much worse than his touch. It was true that physical contact allowed him to take more energy, but he had managed to do so much more with Raoul’s dreams.

After their unexpected encounter at the exorcism, it had taken days before Erik realized he was unable to feed off of any other individual and it had been mere chance that he realized he had the ability to enter the young man’s dreams. Perhaps chance had not been everything since he had been drawn back to the viscount at all hours of the day, always watching his movements, his expressions, his everything. It was inevitable for him to see his dreams as well.

He remembered that first dream well. Erik had stood upon a beach, the only company the expanse of blue sparkling ocean and sand as fine as dust. The taste of salt was heavy on his tongue and the warmth of the sun pleasant against his skin, bright but without the glare. The wind was a gentle caress and Erik searched for the young man, frustrated when he found no one. When a red scarf whipped past his head towards the ocean, he had reached the end of his patience and in a fit, wished him there. He was more than surprised when Raoul actually did appear, out of place in his night clothes and looking around in confusion. His eye caught the scarf fluttering out over the water before Erik, and he ran for it. Annoyed at being ignored, Erik tentatively willed the beach away, pleased when the scenery shifted until they were back in Raoul’s room in Paris.

That had been all Erik needed. Cautious but emboldened, he willed Raoul onto a bed more luscious than the one in his room. Their eyes met and Raoul did not shy away in fear, only stared at him in bemusement. It took just as little effort to undress that lithe form, to spread him upon all that goose down and sheets so smooth it was but another caress to one’s skin. Erik removed all other distractions so that their universe ended at the edge of the bed. He had blindfolded Raoul at first in fear, but quickly needed those eyes fixed on him when all the young man did was tentatively follow Erik’s lead. Raoul had been his canvas, malleable and willing, insensate to everything but his presence and touch.

And touch Erik did. He had taken full advantage of the viscount, had explored every inch of skin, every curve and bend with fingers, palms, tongue and teeth. It was more than feeding, more than the energy he could take. The sounds that came from the young man’s mouth, the way he arched and begged, the way the curve of his ass fit so perfectly in his hands drove Erik to not only continue taking but find more inventive ways to encourage Raoul’s ardour. He learned the deep satisfaction he felt in keeping him open, sliding his fingers through that tight ring of muscle without any effort, languid and slow so that Raoul would feel every second of Erik’s mastery of his body.

Often, he would wondered how much time it would actually take to work the younger man open until he was ready to accept him. He would of course have to find some oils to ease his passage, but those considerations had little place in Raoul’s dreams so he pushed them aside. Instead, Erik focused on encouraging the younger man to say his name in that broken gasp of his when he was coming. He reveled in the spike of warmth that flowed through him whenever he managed to do so.

Erik could remember even now how to felt to be inside him, the tightness and heat. He had not realized how little self-control he had until he had been given the freedom to do as he wished. He had taken everything he could, wringing Raoul dry with pleasures he was certain the young man had never experienced. In the mornings, Raoul had woken with bloodshot eyes and fatigue, too tired to do much of anything for the rest of the day. His hair had been a mess as though Erik had truly been able to run his fingers through those silky locks and grab tightly onto them. By the end of that first week, he had taken Raoul every way possible, all through the night every night until the young man finally thought to seek out help.

Only then had he been barred from Raoul’s dreams by a talisman the priest had given him to wear. It took several days before Erik could no longer stand the separation, although he was by no means starving. He revealed himself when Raoul was actually awake and was surprised by the calm and rational way Raoul had determined the consequences of those passages he had read. They were bonded, the demon ultimately dependent upon a single human.

Erik was the one to suggest the transition to a more physical aspect, lying in order to convince him to meet more frequently than was truly necessary. Beyond even that lie, Erik could have survived without the dreams or the contact. His Raoul loved so deeply, so ardently, that Erik could have made do. He simply had not known how to want less after that first night. When Raoul had been uncertain of his suggestion, he had removed the talisman for him, despite the priest’s warning, just to ensure he would not go hungry.

“It… it is okay.” Raoul slid down the headboard in order to lay on his back more comfortably. He lowered the blanket even further down his waist. He was tense but Erik knew he was responding already. His body knew what was to come.

Erik approached deliberately, slowly when he pressed their lips together. Even still, Raoul started at the touch. He lingered there in response, pressing light kisses over and over again until the young man relaxed enough to respond. He ran a hand through short blond hair and with a gentle tug exposed his neck. Mouthing his way down, he tasted the soft skin and upon finding the spot that made Raoul’s breath hitch, focused on making him squirm. He moved his hands downward, slipping them beneath the shirt and onto toned muscles that twitched beneath his fingertips. Rucking up the material, Erik moved away from his throat in order to lick his navel, an action that had Raoul stifling a low whine, bringing his arms up to cover his face.

Already, Erik felt rejuvenated. He dipped his tongue again and the responding wave of desire made him do it again. He reveled in the way Raoul’s legs opened to welcome him closer. Glancing up, he saw Raoul biting his bottom lip and despite the rest of his face being covered, he knew the pained expression that was there. He frowned slightly but ignored his dissatisfaction, focusing instead on how little urging it took to get him to raise his hips in order to remove the sleep pants currently in his way.

Tossing the offending garment aside, Erik took a moment to just look at him. He could probably last for weeks at the sight alone, Raoul hiding behind his forearms, knees bent and pressed tightly together, almost prudishly. They parted so nicely with just a touch before Erik was free to stroke up his legs, thumbs brushing the sensitive inners of his thighs. He gently urged them apart wider.

Leaning forward in order to kiss the exposed line of his throat, whispering a breathy, “You’re always so good.”

The responding whine and _want_ made Erik a little heady as he hooked his hands behind Raoul’s knees to push them towards his chest just enough to raise his hips. The young man was already half-hard, and now fully exposed to him, Erik could not help but kiss the inside of his knee almost reverently before trailing down with teeth and tongue. The pressure of Erik’s hands was the only thing keeping his hips down. He let Raoul’s erection brush against his cheek before pressing a kiss at its base. He turned his head to lick down the length, hand reaching to press at his sack to behind it, teasing him to fullness.

“Erik,” Raoul moaned.

And Erik relished the sound of his name, nuzzling his erection as reward. He leaned even lower to press wet, messy kisses on his balls before taking them into his mouth, using the broken gasps and moans as an indication of just how strong he should suck. He lowered one of Raoul’s legs onto his shoulder to free a hand in order to stroke him firmly. When Raoul said his name again, Erik kissed the tip of his erection before sucking at the head. The strangled cry that followed was far from any intelligible word, but Erik did not mind. He was more pleased with tasting the pre-cum that he lapped before sucking harder. Swirling his tongue, he teased his slit until Raoul no longer had the wherewithal to feel guilty about what he was doing, until he could feel nothing but lust and desire.

Only when he could hardly form a coherent thought did Erik relax his throat to take him all the way down to the root. Those coltish thighs clenched around his head as he swallowed around his erection, and breathing through his nose harshly, he stayed there, loving the weight of Raoul’s cock against his tongue the smell of sweat and sex filling his senses. What pushed him even further to nose at Raoul’s crotch and strain against the fullness of his throat was the scent of soap. The knowledge that Raoul had bathed and prepared himself for him made Erik grind his own erection down into the bed, wishing he could do so much more. Still, he loved the way he had to force Raoul’s thighs apart just to be able to pull away. He loved the audible pop it made and the desperate hip thrust as Raoul sought his mouth once more.

Raoul was babbling, a litany of _please_ and _Erik,_ and Erik was all too happy to oblige, spreading Raoul’s legs apart wider in order to take him in deeply once more, bobbing his head as he let his tongue press on the underside of his erection. The chorus of Raoul’s pitiful moans and pleads and the wet sound of suction filled the room as the energy that was ripped from Raoul slowly became sweeter the more lost he became to the sensations. Erik hummed and Raoul’s thighs clamped hard around his face as his body arched off the bed and he came. He swallowed every drop of his pleasure, sucking until he was satisfied, even long after Raoul had fallen bonelessly onto the bed, his legs hooked over Erik’s shoulders. Raoul whimpered every now and then, already sensitive but Erik’s own afterglow was heightened by even that slight discomfort, sensing the faint desire to want more but knowing it was impossible so soon.

When Erik let his cock fall gently from his mouth, he crawled up towards Raoul’s head, gently prying tense white fingers before pinning them above his head in order to see Raoul’s face. Blue eyes were determinedly averted.

“Now, now.” Erik kissed his jaw by his ear, knowing the shudder it would elicit. “I’ve told you time and again. Feeling pleasure is necessary. No need to feel so guilty.”

He kissed him again, too tempted by swollen lips and shaky breaths, addicted in ways he could not understand by a simple press of lips. He reveled in smooth lips so receptive and pliant, knowing he could lose himself in those kisses and he did for a moment. He lost himself to the feel of Raoul’s overheated body pressed deliciously beneath him, the cradle of Raoul’s thighs still spread for him, and despite the fact Erik knew he imagined it, the way Raoul chased his lips at the end of each kiss. He was brought out of the daze of kissing when Raoul’s hands clenched against his own and Erik realized he was still holding him down. He looked at their entwined fingers, felt the sweat between their tightly pressed palms, and could not help but kiss him once more.

“Look at me,” he said impulsively, suddenly needing those blue eyes even with tears clinging to their corners to see only him. There was no fear in them, not even disgust. There was only shame, a self-loathing Erik hated Raoul was capable of.

“We shall find a way to release us from this bond,” Erik said, hoping Raoul could not hear the reluctance in his voice and mad at himself for saying such useless words. “Until next week,” and because he could not help himself, he nuzzled Raoul’s cheek, tongue darting out to taste the sweat from their activities and to siphon energy that tasted of satisfaction and despair. Despite the slight bitterness, Erik knew he could not last longer than a week away from him. Sure, he could siphon smaller urges as he followed Raoul around. At least then, the young man would not be so lethargic the following day; Erik could already see signs of it now. He knew it was the only reason that Raoul’s fingers tightened against his own, almost comfortingly, and why his head was tilted just so, an invitation Erik could not refuse as he kissed him one more time. A week was already so very long a wait, and he could not bear to see him with Christine. In fact, he had stopped following Raoul in the opera house, unable to stand the thought that his once distant obsession would soon have what fate had seen fit to tie him to.

“You still have your fiancée, dearest Raoul,” Erik consoled with more bitterness than he would have liked before disappearing with the slightest shift of air that left Raoul shivering in its wake.

Shutting his eyes, Raoul flexed his fingers as he tried to rid himself of the phantom pressure of the demon’s hands. It was a losing battle. He turned to his side, pulling a pillow to bury his face into. He shivered once more but was too tired to even reach down to pull the blanket over himself. He whispered to no one but himself, “No, I do not.”

o.o.o.o

End ficlet

A/N: The POV in this is awkward. I know. I tried different variations but didn’t like any other format of it. Omniscient third person is what you get with awkward jumps that I tried to mitigate the best I could. Do you know how much I needed this to happen though? Also, sweet goodness I am out of practice. It’s like as much as I want smut of them, it’s just so damn difficult to make it happen. The phrase _I can’t do this_ happened often, as well as me reaching the point where I said, _screw this. I don’t care if this is sexy. I need him to do this to Raoul’s body._ (Exactly those words and that sentiment. I need Erik to do a lot of things to Raoul’s body.) Sorry for any errors, but I wanted to post this today and that’s really not an excuse, but I still ask that you excuse me. I tried to give you smut? (Still way less smutty than I want it to be.)

Fic Review: Erik is some mix of incubus, mara, pori, and karabasan, gleaning energy off of humans via their most powerful passions, particularly the seven deadly sins, lust being the most potent of those energies. However, as mentioned in the fic, Erik’s already been cursed once in his life prior to his encounter with Raoul. His powers have been limited (ahem, by a gipsy… it’s always a gipsy) such that he can only latch onto existing passions, cannot create his own like others of his kind can do – ie invade dreams, literally touch humans. He can morph some things depending on the willingness of the person, like with Christine, where he latched onto the Angel of Music concept to encourage/ignite her passions a little more. Erik _has_ managed to kill before, but it was utterly unsatisfying and ultimately draining.

And why does Raoul not want to destroy Erik despite there actually being a way he could do so without killing himself in the process (though he doesn’t know it yet)? Erik’s a demon, right? Demons should be destroyed, but Raoul remembers destroying that wraith. He can still feel/smell/taste the brimstone that had filled the room at the exorcism and he wakes some nights (now that Erik cannot manipulate them) from nightmares about its death cries. And he simply cannot. Then, there’s that first dream of them together, and it is earth shattering for them both. Raoul does not know anything about himself anymore. That first experience is burned into his mind so very different from that wraith’s death even though Raoul does feel like he’s dying every time. It is burned in every interaction he has with Erik, burned him to the core and he almost wants to burn like that again because it wasn’t just sexual. Gosh it _was_ sexual, but it was more than that. It was a connection, a reverence in the man’s touches. His attentiveness, the feel of his mouth and hands and how he was cradled and clutched. He can’t kill Erik. And while he knows he has to release him because what they have is unhealthy, he does not want to admit to himself just how much he wants the bond to remain.

Also, that first week before Raoul realized he should probably go to the priest because something was wrong since people were starting to notice that he severely lacked energy was literally just a sex marathon. The second and third days are the ones that got… sporty and wild and rough and then Erik kind of realized what he actually liked the best was the missionary position so he could see Raoul’s face or spooning, where he could spend an entire night teasing Raoul to hardness and controlling whether he came or not.

Beyond just the smut though, there was some sort of plot? Earlier that day Raoul and Christine actually broke their engagement off.


End file.
